


Puppet on a String

by timeless_alice



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Eobard is bored - uses it to be a horrible person, Follows Canon, Gen, Manipulation, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 08:45:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10590486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeless_alice/pseuds/timeless_alice
Summary: Eobard couldn't remember the last time he had fun. Hartley Rathaway provides a new opportunity.





	

            Eobard couldn’t really remember the last time he’d had _fun._ Taking over someone’s life had been exhilarating in its way for the first few months, but the shine wore off the longer time drew on. No one would catch him, of course he’d covered his trail too well. Fitting in had been relegated to sleepwalking through the motions. All he could really do was wait and watch.

            It was all mind numbingly boring.

            His descent into complete apathy ground to a screeching halt when a name on a list of potential employees caught his eye: Rathaway, Hartley R. Something sparked, breaking through the years’ worth of boredom that had settled in him, a sort of glee he hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity. Genius, altruistic Hartley Rathaway, a loyal friend to the Flash with a few brushes with criminal behavior. Hartley, left in a vulnerable position (Eobard felt a smug satisfaction of knowing the truth while people churned out rumor after rumor regarding the Rathaways), allowing himself to walk into the lions’ den. Eobard had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

            Eobard put him aside, making a show of saying that his credentials would make him valuable to the team. Genius physicist, creative to boot. Internally, he cultivated a plan. Here was this wonderful plaything dropping right into his lap, a fragile thing of the Flash’s that he could bend and break between his fingers, but he needed to be careful. Take his time. There was no need to rush.

***

            Hartley walked into Eobard’s office a week later for his interview, on the dot prompt. He had the poise of a man raised to always be in control, but held none of the confidence that would come with age. As he took a seat across the desk from Eobard, he marveled at just how young Hartley was. The one he knew sat comfortably in his thirties, settled into his own place in the world. Happy and with plenty of loved ones. This one seemed a little less sure, a little more guarded. To anyone else the cool, aloof look on his face would just be another indication of his status as heir to an empire.

            Eobard found it to be so alien on Hartley that he couldn’t figure it to be anything other than the façade of a scared young man.

            The interview was standard, nothing special. Eobard barely paid any real attention to it, only noting that Hartley’s voice had a softer quality to it than he remembered. The real piece of interest was after. A simple “we look forward to having you on the team” followed by a firm handshake, and just as Hartley was about to leave the room, Eobard spoke.

            “I’ve heard about your parents, and I’m here if you ever need to talk about things.” This stopped him dead in his tracks. There was a slight hunch in his shoulders, a crack in his composure. Eobard almost smiled at the sight of it, and he went on with as much fatherly affection as he could muster (which was not much and the mere act made his skin crawl), “I want this team to be like a family.”

            Hartley turned on his heel, his face expressing no hint of emotion. He took a deep breath and said, tone even in the forced way of trying to keep everything under wraps, “Thank you, Dr. Wells.” He dropped his gaze, adjusted his glasses, and left without another word.

***

            What followed was easy. Easy enough that Eobard almost felt bad, if only he had been a more conscientious person. With few questions about how Hartley was doing, and a clear show of playing favorites to the rest of the employees with little effort put in to genuinely denying any such actions, Hartley drew further into his corner and was pushed further away from those who had more benevolent intentions.

            The worst, he knew objectively, were the small reassurances he’d give from time to time. Small statements that regardless of what his parents thought, Hartley was good and worthwhile. They were, more often than not, accompanied by praise for something rather superficial that did not matter in the scheme of things. Every word was a lie, he really didn’t care one way or the other, but stroking Hartley’s ego did little wonders for how the rest of the team thought of his character and served to isolate him more.

            Eobard was well aware that only a few months into the job, Hartley considered him something of a father figure. It never took much prying to get him to share things that were bothering him, and Eobard felt a strange delight in how much the poor, stupid kid trusted him.

            At one point, Eobard had found him working by himself in a small backroom. Whether he was alone because of his own will, or because his behavior had chased everyone off, or some combination of both, Eobard didn’t know. Nor did he really care to know. But his shoulders were tense, and he moved with slow, deliberate motions to counteract an obvious shaking in his hands.

            “Hartley,” Eobard started, slipping back into his fatherly persona.

            Hartley started at his words, almost dropping his pen, and he jerked his head up to look at Eobard. His eyes were red, and there was a wetness around them; he’d been crying.

            “Is something wrong?” Eobard strode across the room, to sit across from Hartley.

            “It’s nothing important,” Hartley said, rubbing at an eye. His voice was kept even with every scrap of “rich boy aloofness” he still clung to.

            Eobard effected a worried sigh. “Hartley.” He was a little amazed at how good he’d become at sounding genuine in his concern. “You can tell me.”

            It took no extra prying, Hartley just began speaking. “It’s my sister’s birthday.” A story spilled out of him, about how he had a younger sister, significantly younger, who he had been very close to. Since the disownment, he had not been allowed to speak to her. As such, he was missing her growing up. Part way through, his voice began to shake and tears welled in his eyes; Eobard placed a hand on his arm and smiled, as gentle as he could.

            He told Hartley that he would try to organize a way for him to see his sister again, after the accelerator was finished. Hartley was at a loss for words, and just stammered out a teary “thank you.”

***

            Part of what Eobard tried to do, and he supposed it was a little too ambitious, was try to swing Hartley onto his way of thinking. Hartley always had a strong moral compass, Eobard was well aware, but it was worth a shot. Hartley’s newfound possessiveness, a character trait Eobard never knew him to have, was certainly a step in the right direction; Eobard supposed it was rooted in his status as an abandoned, lonely young man, but he clung to Eobard and resented anyone who came close. And in this way, Eobard realized, Hartley would do anything to stay in his good graces.

            Hartley had become cold, and toed the line of “hostile” towards other coworkers. Any sign of someone replacing him terrified him, and Eobard took delight in it. It was an effort to keep it from showing when he introduced Hartley to Cisco, it was an even greater effort to bald faced lie and say that Hartley was still “his guy.”

            More time passed, and more Hartley played into his hand. By that point, Eobard’s careful manipulation meant that Hartley was near unbearable to the rest of the team. He was Dr. Wells’ favorite, after all. To Hartley, Eobard assumed, it likely seemed as if they hated him for other reasons. There were times, he had observed early on, where Hartley had tried to be friendly with other coworkers, but perceived favoritism caused him to be rejected. That undoubtedly turned his heart a little bit colder.

            It was, however, a little unsatisfying but not wholly surprising that Eobard could not stamp out Hartley’s inherent allegiance to the side of “good.” He supposed it was inevitable that Hartley would find out about the possibility – likelihood – of the accelerator exploding, but part of him had hoped that Hartley would value reputation over the safety of others. Of course, Hartley wanted people to be safe before anything else.

            Eobard was, quite simply, disappointed that his game had ended and that he hadn’t really “won.” He sighed loudly and dramatically, internally, as Hartley made his statement, and he did the best thing he could think of: reject Hartley. Kick him to the curb, just as his parents had done, and allowed him to have the last word. Checkmate.

            Hartley could only stare, his job terminated and his father figure turned on him. The reality of what was happening settled into every line of his face, more disbelief than heartbreak. He tried to rebuttal, scrapping what little control he could manage from this situation, threatening to go public with the information himself. With casual ease, still with the upper hand, Eobard countered; ruination of his career. Hartley wouldn’t perform any career suicide, no matter how much he wanted to help (not that it would be easy as it were – Eobard found it unlikely that he would say, officially, that Hartley left of his own free will).

            The crushed look of betrayal on Hartley’s face, followed by an attempt at stoic acceptance, sent sparks of joy through Eobard. He reveled in it, knowing that as Hartley was escorted out of the building he would pass through the lab, seen by co-workers who had never warmed up to him.

***

            Months passed. The accelerator exploded. Eobard slipped into a new role with ease. He noticed that, on lists of those effected was Hartley’s name. On a few occasions he thought he should reach other. But he never would.

***

            Hartley had lost against Barry. Eobard found him sitting in his pipeline cell, with his back pressed against one of the walls and one arm balancing on a propped up knee. His glasses were pushed up into his hair, revealing a scar at his hairline that would soon be matched with the healing burns on his hands.

            Eobard cleared his throat. Hartley jolted and flicked his glasses down with such ferocity that they slid partway down his nose and he flinched from whatever pain it caused. He got to his feet, careful not to press his palms to the floor, and stared at Eobard.

            “I’m surprised you didn’t hear me,” Eobard said, folding his hands in his lap.

            Hartley’s eyes narrowed into a glare, and Eobard toned down his smirk. “You got lost in everything else,” he said, coolly.

            “Listen, Hartley.” Eobard said, extending his fatherly role out to Hartley once again. “I’m sorry this happened. I really am.”

            If it weren’t for the glass between them, Hartley’s step forward would’ve been intimidating. But as it were, there was nothing Hartley could do, so Eobard just watched him.

            “You aren’t sorry,” Hartley said, anger tinging his voice. “If you were sorry, this wouldn’t have happened.”

            Eobard rolled his eyes. “Come on, Hartley, you can’t keep putting the blame on me.” He gave his head a small shake and looked away, as if what he planned to say next pained him. After a moment, he looked back to Hartley, expression solemn. “Hartley. You can’t keep blaming everyone else for things that go wrong. I fired you because you went behind my back, and your continued refusal to be a team player. Adjustments to the accelerator were made after you left. Whatever pariah mentality you have is just that. An idea you put in your head to absolve yourself of guilt.”

            Hartley stared at him, the anger slipping off his face to fade into something more along the lines of “devastated.” He opened his mouth, then shut it again, too at a loss to speak. Eobard left him alone, to deal with the twisting of the knife.

**Author's Note:**

> wow buddy don't you have a comp exam Wednesday and a (take home) exam Thursday?
> 
> ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ high school senioritis has nothing on college senioritis
> 
> also if this has errors it's because of the aforementioned stuff I need to do this week
> 
> im timelessmulder on tumblr


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